


No Sympathy for the Devil (Unless There's Sympathy for Me)

by silenceinmolasses



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Fingering, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Cock Warming, Communication, Fluff, Foggy Nelson Knows Matt is Daredevil, Foggy's Butt, Friendship/Love, Getting Back Together, Hair-pulling, In the Beginning, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Karen Page/Claire Temple, OTP Feels, POV Foggy Nelson, Porn Watching, Porn With Plot, Public Sex, Season/Series 01, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, eventually, public sex like wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 23:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16028444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silenceinmolasses/pseuds/silenceinmolasses
Summary: Five times sex did not bring Matt and Foggy closer and one time it did.





	No Sympathy for the Devil (Unless There's Sympathy for Me)

1.

Matt ran away after work again. As Foggy already had enough time to go through the cycle of worry, anger, acceptance, now he is on disbelief. He is so accommodating, giving Matty all the time he needs to do whatever it is he does; he pours his trust into Matt's cupped hands only to see it dripping down on the dirty ground. The last time Matt and he sat down to simply spend time together, watch a movie, play Scrabble, anything, was weeks ago. The last time Matt came to work with bruises on his face? It was days. Foggy spends all his time going though all the possibilities, each worse than the last, before calling his best friend just to see it he is okay. Matt sounds distant and unhelpful at all. 

Foggy doesn't think he is going to take it.

"I'm leaving for the night," Karen calls out to him from the doorway. Foggy smiles at her; her hair is curled at the tips and her lipstick shines glossy even in the shitty lighting of his office. Karen recently met a woman, a nurse who did not waste any time before inviting Karen on a date. They are going to the movies today, a new sci-fi blockbuster. Foggy knows this because Karen gladly shared what's new in her life over a cup of coffee. You know, like friends do.

"Sure. Looking sharp," he winks. Karen laughs, her hands brushing down her colorful dress. 

"Thanks, see you tomorrow. Don't stay too long," she lingers in the doorway. Karen is blooming with joy and yet she is worried.

"Promise. Just gonna finish up," he looks down at the document on the screen. He was too distracted to read more than a few lines.

After the echo of Karen's heel fade away, Foggy is stuck all alone. He closes the document and clicks the Firefox icon. He wants to check the news; maybe there will be a coverage of the Masked Man of Hell's Kitchen who he might be keeping a closer eye on. He is... being cautious, he supposes, by following the news of the mysterious person who saved Karen. He can't be that bad, right? Even if he is a vigilante.

Only, no, this is not true at all.

None of the new sites load. Foggy huffs and thrums his fingers along his keyboard, debating whether it is worth going and poking the router, when he apparently writes something coherent and his browser immediately opens a porn site.

Right. Must be one of those evenings.

Foggy sits more comfortably and spreads his legs. He idly checks the videos in the most popular section, skimming through the titles, until his gaze meets a pretty accurate cosplay of Captain America and a woman in an anachronistic WWII get-up. He presses on it, has barely enough time to unzip his trousers and take his dick out as the video finishes loading. He starts jerking off, not really paying attention. It's dry and unsatisfactory but he doesn't feel horny enough to fish for lotion or take his pants off.

In a folder on his laptop, hidden under old notes, is a Word document where Foggy keeps all the sightings of the Masked Man, covered by the news. Lucky him, it is still such a hot topic that wherever the man as much as coughs there is a journalist to propose a conspiracy theory. Combined with the Facebook group, recording the first-hand encounters, some of them true, helped Foggy draw up a more or less accurate time line. This is where it gets tricky.

The view of the blond stud in stars and stripes eating out the woman, her hair and lipstick messy, quite does it for him. Foggy spits on his hand and wraps his fingers around his cock again. He feels himself grimacing.

The sightings of the Masked Man that seem most reliable magically match with Matt coming to work all bruised and cut up the next morning.

It would be unfair to draw any hasty conclusions. But Foggy knows that his best friend is more closed off than he is and hasn't told as much things to Foggy as he has (not that he's complaining. Boundaries are boundaries). Also, Foggy can be pissed off at all the vigilantism that is going on, but he still can see the people the Masked Man saved, the hard work he has been doing simply because he believes in justice. The familiar work and familiar justice.

Matt, his Matty, exhausted and bloody. Matt, brushing him off, not trusting him at all. Foggy thinks about the last time he saw him without glasses, eager and soft, remembers how they used to celebrate successful exams with drinks and pecks on the lips while still sober, and he comes while barely hard, sweaty and pissed off.

 

2.

"Are you okay?" Matt asks urgently, concerned probably, though the effect is lost on Foggy as he is clearly lowering his voice like a kid on Halloween, "Mr Nelson, is it?"

"Everything's fine, Mr Masked Man," Foggy is fine, if you ignore the heat of betrayal in his chest. A residue of fear of almost getting mugged stretches him thin, "you were just on time, like always," Foggy tries for polite but it comes out as a purr. 

Foggy may have no idea yet how Matt does what he does but he still came flipping , though saving a broke lawyer from a literal child with a pocket knife must not have been a priority for the Masked Man of Hell's Kitchen. What was it he did a few days ago? Broke a human trafficking ring? He came in limping and Foggy greeted him with a fresh coffee and open arms, and he kinda expected? What? To be a partner in crime? A supportive friend, definitely. Alas, good intentions are not good enough and Matt met Foggy's affection with fatigue.

Foggy's pissed off and the heavy resentment hides hurt. He is pissed off but Matty still deserves a second of rest. And if Thai take-outs won't do, Foggy will have to come up with something else.

The alley they are in is drowning in sticky shadows. The lamppost lights are too soft. Matt looks completely unapproachable. 

"You're out late," he says, not moving as Foggy comes closer, humming noncommittally.

"Yeah, I guess. You're gonna let me thank you now?" Foggy looks down. The pavement is dirty but at least it is dry. His fingers twitch. There must be something in his voice or maybe Matt can read his mind, because his stature crumbles.

"You don't need to thank me, Mr Nelson,"  _Mr Nelson_ again. Foggy scoffs. It feels like a mockery. Matt does not move out of the shadows as Foggy comes close and personal. His hair is wet with sweat. His black clothes look too soft. They probably offer no protection.

"I guess not. You can push me away," he says simply, does not tell anything else as he kneels slowly on his satchel. Imagines for a moment meeting Matt tomorrow at work, his bag washed with soap. He hopes it won't be enough.

It is not particularly comfortable but then Foggy slides his hand up Matt's thigh. The material feels hot, the muscles tensed. Foggy was right: Matt wears sweatpants when he fights criminals. He must be injured. But he does not let his best friend help him, no.

Foggy shifts closer, his touch softer. He brushes his lips across the waistband of Matt's sweats, going lower, nipping on the material stretched taut across his crotch. 

"Please," it is more of an exhalation than an actual word. Foggy looks up for a second, glad that Matt can't see the expression on his face. He does not feel too loving. He is also helplessly turned on.

Foggy slips his hand inside Matt's underwear, taking out his half-hard cock. It feels big and hot, a weight for his fingers to wrap around; Foggy swallows and spreads his legs. He feels his pulse in his lower belly.

Matt moans before Foggy puts him in his mouth. He smiles for a second, pressing a few kisses across the length of Matt's dick. The air smells musky; Foggy wraps his lips around the head and sucks. Matt almost growls, way too loud. Foggy feels his gloved hand looming at the back of his head, not exactly touching. He removes his mouth with a pop and brings Matt's hesitant fingers to his hair.

"Come on," he says, almost laboriously, and, after loosely jerking Matt a few times, takes it in his mouth again, sliding lower. It fills up his mouth, silky and salty. Foggy barely has any space to move his tongue. He sucks, his spit making the slide easier. He thinks he hears Matt swearing under his breath, his fingers winding in Foggy's messy hair and pulling softly. It feels like his hair got caught in a rose bush. Foggy can't take it anymore: he palms his hard cock though his slacks, unzipping them, and then grabs himself through the opening.

"Foggy," Matt moans, his hand petting Foggy's face, fingers pressing into his stretched lips, trying to get in. Foggy opens his mouth wider, catching a thumb inside and clumsily licking it. He flushes harder; he can feel his jaw starting to ache. He lets go of his dick and rubs in between his legs, his thighs shaking. Foggy slides his thumb against his hole, drily pressing in; he whines. It's not pleasant at all, everything about this situation is too hot and helpless, but Matty's hand is warm around his cheek and his dick is hard and throbbing and just for a moment Foggy can melt. 

Matt moans something incoherent as he comes. Foggy removes his mouth in time for it to catch him in the face, sticking to the ends of his hair. His best friend is big and, though his thigh muscles are still twitching, Matt tries to wipe the semen off Foggy's face. 

How considerate.

Matt wets his lips as if he smells something savory in the air. It is a while till Foggy notices the front of his underwear is ruined and the area around his hole stings with scratches.

Foggy would love to pretend he blew Matt out of good intentions, because they decided to fool around in the public. 

"Well, Mr Masked Man," he stands up and takes his bag off the ground. It is cold, the wind bites his sweaty skin and Matt looks mute, his hand is half out-stretched towards him, "I think I can find my way home."

 

3.

Karen does not notice anything but she's warm and petal-soft from being in love so she could mistake Foggy's blush speckled face for affection and not pettily induced lust. He must also look tired as he spent half a night doing the work that is today's priority. Though he could not do all that much for Mrs Cardenas, no one can say he wastes time on bullshit. Foggy shifts in the chair, his laptop rebooting, and the toy slick and snug inside of him. Karen left the door open behind her, he can hear her humming something cheerful as she sits down at her desk. Matt's door is open too. Foggy stretches, grunting with what he hopes is I'm Doing Serious Business noise and not horniness. Her fingers bump against his erection, straining in his trousers as he grips the controller in his fist. If his hypothesis is correct (at least one of them), he should get some kind of reaction from Matt. Any kind is good; this morning he barely nodded at Foggy's affectionate greeting. This just won't do. 

Foggy shudders as he feels the toy buzzing. He knows crystal clear that even a person standing on the other side of the desk would not be able to hear it. No way, nuh-uh. Karen continues to clack on the keyboard, none the wiser, but there is a small crash from Matt's workplace. If it indeed is super hearing, then Matt can hear it. Can understand what it is too. Foggy would fist pump the air as he is totes right but, shit, it feels good. He stays rigid in the chair, breathing deeply, the vibrator in his ass making him sweat as the sweet sweet tension in between his legs travels up and down his body. He stares unseeing into his laptop screen, half an ear listening to Karen asking whether Matt is okay and him answering something too quietly. Is Matt still listening? What can he hear? Foggy coughs to mask his laugh as well as a moan. 

He turns it off for the time. His thighs are trembling; boy, is he glad his work for today is done.

Matt still does not leave his office. 

Foggy wanders into the kitchen. He can hear Karen outside the office, giggling to her phone.

"Want some coffee, Matt?" he asks in his regular speaking voice. He never uses it while standing this far away but Matt is too busy or distracted to notice that it should be too hard to hear separate words as he answers something Foggy lets himself assume is an affirmation.

"Cool," he mumbles under his breath and turns on the kettle. He wipes spilled sugar from the top and absentmindedly licks the crystals. His body still feels hot, some of it (his head, his fists, his heart) with anger but the rest is lust. He can still feel Matt's cock stretching his mouth, hard and salty, and he is distracted and pissed off again in equal measure.

Does Matt feel nothing? Does he just... Foggy stops the train of thought and brings two hot cups to Matt's desk. He looks tensed, his earphones forgotten near him.

"Have a break," Foggy says conversationally. He takes a sip of his drink and sighs internally, "it's on your one o'clock."

"Thanks, Foggy," Matt kinda smiles and reaches for the cup and that's when Foggy turns on the toy. He expects the electric current, making his muscles tremble with pleasure, so he just shifts barely but Matt jumps in the air, his hand missing the cup by miles. He is blushing and looks terribly anguished and Foggy can't contain his laughter this time. He must look like an asshole but Karen's still out and he is feverish. Matt is not looking at him, his hands clenched into fists. Foggy thinks Matt could start speaking; or shouting. The heat in Foggy hopes Matt will drag him closer by his tie and push him against the table. He bets Matt would immediately find the controller in his pocket and take it for himself. It would be a fitting reconciliation gift: Foggy's pleasure would depend on him; his pleasure and then everything else.

Matt inhales as if he is trying not to breathe and it confirms another little theory he should have realized earlier but it was too much of a joke: Matt has super smell too. Foggy swallows his miserable moan as he thinks about it. There is lube smeared in between his ass cheeks and there is just as much of it on his thighs from all the rubbing and shifting he's been doing. It's mixed with pre-cum and his sweat as well as... the food he ate? Soap? All this time? Foggy was definitely not on the list of the roommate of the year and only if Matt, say, let him know? No doubt he would have been more accommodating.

And now?

"Matt," he says simply says, turning off the toy. They sit still until Karen comes back to remind them it is lunch time.

 

4.

Foggy honestly assumed that whatever happened in the last few days would work as some kind of stepping stone. He proudly feels like he made a peace offering; actually, he made Matt come with his tongue once but it's pretty much the same thing. 

Foggy feels honestly surprised that his assumptions have not completely missed the mark. 

There is a feeling burning in his chest, right beneath his heart. It keeps him hungry after he wolfs down the leftovers from the night before. The fury crinkles like a log on fire on a cold autumn evening; the heart in the center is big and warm and striped with soot.

He comes back home, reads up for the next day and goes straight to bed. He spends a lot of time in grocery stores, trying to discard which shampoo or body wash is unscented or at least smells of fake flowers as little as possible. He has been taste testing the various bakeries around their office, searching for the most organic and cheapest alternative to the cupcakes he assumed Matt was unnecessarily complaining about. He brought something strongly smelling of flour and nuts and Matt, while taking the bread, grabbed Foggy's hand just to hold it.

It seems to Foggy that they meet more often but it's probably because Foggy hangs out near Matt's apartment, leaving him bandages and bruise creams and antiseptic wipes.

Matty is the Masked Man. Foggy can barely sleep sometimes. The inside of his mouth feels tender.

They run into each other while shopping. If Foggy is a... Fairy godfather figure, then Matt is an angel, watching over the city, swiping down to save him from muggers, and swapping rotten oranges with fresh ones in his cart. The sweet bite of the juice slides down Foggy's chin and his fingers feel sticky long after he washes them.

It's a warm evening and Foggy's on Matt's building's roof. He is waiting, idly sitting on a blanket, the horrendous blue light coloring the thermos and his fingers.

The Masked Man comes up behind him, his steps loud. Foggy feels like he has been waiting for a long time and he will probably have to wait more.

"Foggy," Matt says quietly.

"Masked man," Foggy says a bit pointedly, "Coffee?" he lifts the thermos up.

"No, thanks," Matt sits down next to him, their shoulders touching. Matt doesn't look too hurt, his breathing is fine.

"I want to," he begins, sounding pensive, "to return the favor, in a way."

Foggy hums. For a moment he expects him to take off the mask and tell the truth but then Matt slides his hand up his thigh.

Oh. This favor. This is... fine, Foggy supposes. In between one heartbeat and the next, the warm weight strokes his inner thigh, and he's hard. He spreads his legs, fingers playing with the loose threads of the blanket, as Matt rubs his erection through his pants. He stares at the sky, black laced with greys and purples; it drinks in the lights below, and Foggy moans uninhibitedly as Matt nips at his chin, his stubble scratchy. Matt tears open his jeans, and as his hand closes over Foggy's dick - his gloved hand, the leather both warm and cold, Foggy shivers, - he becomes impatient. His kisses are all teeth and he pushes Foggy down, hard, as if when Matt touches him, something inside him wants to touch more. 

"Hey," Foggy pats him on the chest. The body above him is sweaty and feverish.

"I will make it good for you, let me," Matt flicks his wrist and licks up Foggy's neck, his tongue almost reaching his mouth.

"Yeah, you do," Foggy tries to laugh but the noise comes out as a whine. He lifts his hand, almost touches the mask, but then Matt pulls him up. Foggy catches himself on the hard line of Matt's shoulders, clutching to him. Matt with his free arm pulls Foggy's trousers down. His hand does not stop moving, fast and slick.

Foggy's legs are stuck in an awkward angle until Matt slides a knee in between, holding him up. 

His best friend is so strong.

If only he would share it. And burdens too.

Foggy grinds down, baring his neck he assumes is covered in hickeys. 

"Foggy," Matt whispers into his neck.

"Yeah?" Foggy's answer is heavy in its breathlessness.

Matt does not continue. His knuckles brush down the crack of Foggy's ass and he comes, a shuddering mess. 

Matt does not let him go. Clutches him and hugs him. The sky above his head is black and silver, glistening wetly like it will crumble any time, soft and promising.

 

5.

Foggy is used to Fogwell being dark and empty even in the brightest of days so when he hears a commotion on the other side of the street his legs bring him closer without his volition. All the lights inside are on, illuminating beer bottles in the hands of older men Foggy does not think he has seen before. Well, he admits that he would go into the gym only to hang out with Matt. Speaking of which...

Foggy comes inside and pushes closer to the ring. He lets the sweaty, enthusiastic bodies hold him up as he peers into the center: the boxers are in the middle of a fight. Foggy gives himself a moment to breathe and lets his gaze wander over sinewy muscles and muscular backs, for a second enjoying the display of strength and brutal energy. And then he faces the truth: one of the men is his best friend and Foggy clutches at these words with desperation. At least he's not wearing any masks. Foggy sees the hard line of his jaw, the movements of his shoulders; Matt stopped for a second as Foggy came in. The longer Foggy stays here, wincing at the shouts right into his ears, the harder his heart beats, adrenaline squeezing his insides because  _Matty is right here_ fighting a man for no reason whatsoever; the more furious Matt looks, the more aggressively he punches and pushes and hits. There is so much blood already on the dirty floor and the crowd oohs like bees. Someone spills beer on Foggy's shirt. He stumbles as a few men he assumes are security steps up to stop Matt who is ready to lash out at the guy who is already down.

"Stop showing off, Matt.  _Enough_ ," Foggy hisses the last word and Matt slumps against the man pushing him out of the ring. There is someone announcing the bets for the fight.

Matt finds him in the crowd. The tape on his knuckles is bloody and he favors his right side. Foggy is so tired. As Matt's hand closes over his bicep, he angrily shakes it off.

"What are you doing, Matt?" he grabs Matt's hand. It would be almost comforting, the warmth, the buzzing of the crowd around them like an ocean on a windy day, the lights above, "Matt," he practically growls but his dear friend again deflects the subject.

Matt drags him away from the ring, stands behind a column, his breathing more ragged than during the match.

"Do I have to explain myself to you? You know I train. This," he nods at the room, "pays well."

"And all these people want to see Battlin Jack's kid, right? Okay," Foggy's voice trembles, "only this is not what I'm asking."

"I guess you would have to wait then," he starts to turn around but Foggy shoves him back. Matt grimaces as his shoulder brushes the wall. Foggy lacks finesse as he thrusts his thigh in between Matt's legs. They are both hard.

"You want an outlet. Come on," Foggy presses his lips to Matt's neck, tastes salt and it burns his lips, "come on," he rolls his hips clumsily. His heart beats in his throat.

The thing is, he knows what he can without directly asking about Matt's abilities. Matt boxing for money, sure, it's definitely better than anything else. There is no reason to stop him now. And yet. He just needs his friend.

And yet when Matt catches his lips, teeth digging in a bit too hard, he moans loudly. Matt drags his nails down Foggy's thighs, pulling him closer. Foggy sucks on Matt's tongue, his hand on the wall slipping as Matt cards his fingers in his hair and pulls. His movements are so much more graceful. He grinds his palm onto Foggy's dick and licks the residue of beer off his shirt.

"Foggy," he moans. He sounds loving and a bit sad and very much turned on. Foggy basks into the glow of it, affection building somewhere deep inside and winding over his ribs.

He does not think as he turns them around, mashing his cheek into the wall. Matt immediately covers his body with his own, his tongue hot and wet on Foggy's neck. He can feel Matt's cock, hard and heavy, against his ass and,  _shit_ , it's good. Matt thrusts against him, a bit frantic, his hands always moving: either gripping his hips or pawing on his crotch or scratching his scalp. Every brush of his fingers feels like a spark of a on Foggy's skin. He whimpers, his dick so hard it almost hurts. The wall feels cold against his blushing face.

Matt's hands stops on his ass, kneading the flesh under old sweatpants, pulling him closer by the waistband as he rolls his hips. He pants behind Foggy; a few strands of hair caught in his open mouth.

"You like this, right?" he whispers urgently as his lean fingers slide between Foggy's legs, surging where his asshole is. Foggy sighs as an answer and there is a second of stillness behind him and Foggy remembers too late about the loose stitching on the back of his sweats. Matt's nails accidentally scrap his inner thighs as he rips the remaining stitching, widening the hole. Foggy whines as Matt, so gently it could barely be felt, strokes the skin he can find, slipping under his underwear. A few thoughts about condoms flash in Foggy's mind, so he spits in his hand and gropes behind him. Matt moans as Foggy wraps his hand around his dick. The saliva is not slick enough; Foggy rubs against Matt, spreading his legs.

They both groan as Matt fits his cock between Foggy's thighs, big and hot. The head bumps against Foggy's balls under the flimsy material.

"Foggy, you're incredible," he murmurs. Foggy feels the warm weight of him on his body. It's ludicrous but it's comfortable.

"Matty," he sighs. Pre-cum helps to ease the friction; Matt slides his fingers alongside his dick before puling Foggy's underwear to the side and nudging his wet fingers against his hole. It's not completely dry, Foggy was not too concerned about showering after getting off the night before, and Matt's fingers slip across the remaining lube.

Foggy turns his head, panting from the force of Matty humping him, his tongue out. Matt meets him halfway, kissing him needily, the slide of his thick tongue matching one of his fingers pushing into Foggy's ass. Foggy rolls his hips, clenching the muscles of his thighs. Matt bites his neck in return. He inserts another finger, his sigh of pleasure almost ethereal; the stretch is just enough for Foggy and he freezes as he comes, shaking, the front of his trousers wet.

Matt kisses him again, tonguing the seam of his lips. He pulls out his dick out, jerking it sloppily. Foggy groans as cum splashes on his hole, still stretched around Matt's fingers.

"You feel so good," Matt's voice is rough and full of awe.

"You too," Foggy tells the wall. He breathes deeply, trembling.

Matt takes his fingers out, slowly. He gently kneads Foggy's ass cheeks and kisses his hair. There is nothing to be done about the very wide, very obvious hole in his sweats.

"I have a jacket, you can take it..." Matt is flustered behind him. Foggy laughs.

"Don't worry about it."

 

+1.

Foggy wakes up to fingers stroking his forehead. He blinks, trying to adjust to his dark surroundings, and catches the slightly trembling hand, whether to hold it or move it away he doesn't know yet.

And then he fully wakes up. It is definitely not visiting time and, what's more important, Matt did not pick up his phone.

"Matt?" he asks urgently, trying to sit up. He can't see the person in detail who presses his shoulders down, the hands warm and gentle.

"Yeah, buddy, it's me. Lay down," Matt sounds affectionate.

"Are you hurt? I was so worried," Foggy means to pat Matt down but the latter sits down on the edge of the bed and tightens his hold on their linked hands.

"I'm sorry," he sounds grim, "I have a few scratches. And my head hurts," Matt is way too serious, his back is straight. Foggy tries to reach up for his head and he crumbles, "Foggy, I never wanted this to happen."

"This is not something any of us can control," Foggy murmurs, "don't look that scared, Matt," he giggles slightly.

Foggy hears Matt taking off his glasses. Then he leans closer, tense and determined.

"Foggy, I have to tell you something."

Foggy smiles tiredly. He moves to leave more space near where Matt sits.

"Come on, join me. You should lie down too. And then," his voice gets softer as Matt with no hesitation removes his shoes and snuggles up to Foggy, "I will listen to whatever you have to say."

"Foggy," Matt starts, his hand still gripping Foggy's as if worries he will leave, "I am the Masked Man of Hell's Kitchen."

Foggy nods. Sighs. Brings Matt's hand to his chest.

"As if I didn't have enough to worry about," he jokes weakly, tightening his hold when Matt tries to pull away, "I'm so glad you told me."

Matt mumbles something similar to "late". With a free hand he hugs Foggy across his waist, careful of his wound.

"There is something else," Matt pushes forward.

"Yes?" Foggy's heart beats in his belly, seeking the warmth of Matt's arm.

"After the accident... after I became blind, my other senses got heightened. And I trained a lot. It's..." Matt stops. He gingerly puts his head on Foggy's shoulder, "You reek of blood and chemicals and your breathing is obstructed," he murmurs into Foggy's neck.

Foggy kisses him somewhere on his cheek.

"Maybe it would be better if you leave," Foggy offers but before he could finish, Matt hugs him closer.

"No," he says flatly.

"Having super smelling must be hard," Foggy muses and lets out a short puff of laughter as he feels Matt smiling widely into his shoulder. Yeah, he almost forgot that. Suddenly, he too is blushing.

"You did so well finding out everything about me. My clever best friend," Matt whispers. Foggy shivers, "I really appreciate what you did for me."

Foggy squeaks as Matt's hand grips his ass.

"Not that we are on the same page, we could start from the beginning," he says through his giggles.

"A compelling offer, counselor," Matt looks up. Foggy leans forward and they kiss. Matt's mouth is open underneath his, hot and wet. Matt lets out these sweet noises as Foggy licks insistently stroking the roof of his mouth.

"I'm sorry, Foggy," Matt kisses his upper lip, his nose, the fragile skin beneath his left eye, "I love you. I always have."

Foggy's heart jumps and starts galloping.

"Yeah, you're it for me too, Murdock," he tells him. Matt's mouth is more insistent against him, nibbling and sucking, before going lower to gently bite behind his ear.

"Ah, you really are a biter," Foggy moans as Matt brings their linked hands down to rub against his crotch, clad in jeans, "I can blow you," he whispers, pawing at the zipper.

"Let me do something for you. Something you like," Matt slides his fingers under the gown, softly brushing over Foggy's balls before slipping further.

"Yeah, this is good," Foggy rolls his hips against the dry fingers, "you gonna fuck me, Matty?"

He suspects that Matt's grin is nothing short of predatory.

"Gonna help you rest, Fog," he lets Foggy suck on his tongue messily as he removes his hand from between his legs. Foggy hears a clink of a belt buckle, some rustling and then the fingers return, eager and slippery.

"You walk around with lube, Murdock?" Foggy spreads his legs and tries to hook his knee over Matt's waist but before his wound twitches Matt stops him.

"Are you the one to judge me, Nelson?" Matt kisses him again. Foggy's lips tingle as a finger pushes into him. After a few thrusts Matt adds another finger, curling both of them. Foggy groans, throwing his head back as Matt sucks on his neck, his free hand pulling on his hair.

"I can feel only you right now," Matt breathes out.

"Yeah. Yeah, good," Foggy fumbles until he finds Matt's hard cock. He takes it out, jerking him off as the fingers inside him increase their pace. They reach deeply and it is  _so good_. Matt moans into his mouth and shuffles closer. Foggy let's him go, sweat beading on his hairline. He bends his leg, trying to give Matt more access, as he waits for Matt to put on a condom.

His eyes widens and he moans perhaps too loudly as Matt drags his slippery dick over his hole. Matt snickers.

"There are nurses coming this way," he helpfully shares before slowly pushing in.

"Think they want a show?" Foggy licks over the seam of Matt's lips before throwing his head back. Matt fixes his hospital gown, kisses his hair and settles next to him. He throbs inside Foggy, hot and thick. Matt's warm hands spread his cheeks and he thrusts, making Foggy moan.

"I thought you were gonna let me rest?" he asks, eyes already closing.

"I am," Matt lifts the blanket and tucks them both in. His forehead touches Foggy's. He trembles. Foggy snuggles closer, his body open like a flower, finally calm.

**Author's Note:**

> I have wanted to write 5+1 trope for a long time and MattFoggy fandom is so incredible and inspiring I finally have \o/. I hope you like it!


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